


/momma's boy

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Attempted Murder, Child Neglect, Choking, Depression, M/M, Mommy Issues, Possession, Soft Ending, Sonia tries to strangle a child, Violence, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 01:02:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: Bill wants a new mother.Alternatively titled, "(gee it's swell to finally meet her) mother friends"





	/momma's boy

Bill’s parents didn’t love him. This was fact.

They liked Georgie better. They must have always liked him better. If Bill had died, they’d have poured all their love into Georgie, kept him safe, held him and never let go. But Bill hadn’t died. Sometimes, he wished he had. The love of Sharon and Zack Denbrough was lost in the sewers somewhere. Bill must’ve been awful, must’ve been the worst kid ever, he’d tried and tried and tried.

It didn’t matter when he came home. It didn’t matter where he was going. It didn’t matter if he got kidnapped, slit open, killed. His parents would just move out, probably to someplace warm. They’d forget their troubles, and their sons, over a mojito or two. They might’ve forgotten Bill already. The glimmer of hope in his heart was leaving him.

He met Sonia Kaspbrak when he was young, because he’d been friends with Eddie since they were practically shitting in diapers. Eddie kept communication between his own mother and his friends to a minimum, but sometimes they’d come over to Eddie’s place and build puzzles on the floor while Ms. Kaspbrak watched TV in her reclining chair. Nothing too high-energy, or she’d throw a fit. She frightened Bill a little bit, and she seemed to hate him, possibly even more than Henry Bowers hated him.

It happened on his way home from school, Bill had been practicing that old phrase.  _ He thrusts his fists against the post, and still insists he sees the ghost _ . It was supposed to alleviate his stutter, but it seemed to only make it worse on most days. But he was determined to say it, and to say it without tripping even once. He wondered, if he did it, would his mother congratulate him? Would she ruffle his hair like she used to do? Would she tell him he did a good job? Would she maybe even hug him? And then he entered Eddie’s house, as they were going to hang out that day. Mrs. Kaspbrak gave Eddie the biggest, tightest hug Bill had ever seen. He wondered how it must’ve felt. The maternal smell she had, the way their cheeks pressed together and her hand clutched tight on the back of Eddie’s skull. Suddenly, Bill felt something he hadn’t before. Longing. A tangible longing.

Bill didn’t like Sonia Kaspbrak. He didn’t know where the feeling came from, because she seemed to hate him. She hated everyone who came near Eddie. He didn’t want her, but he wanted that feeling of protection. As him and Eddie were on their way out, he asked,

“How l-l-late does your muh-mom let you s-s-st-st-stay outside?”

“Oh, if I come home after seven she’ll call the police. I’ve heard they don’t even take her calls anymore.” Eddie looked at him. “Why, when do your folks want you home?”

“They d-d-d-d-don’t care.”

“Lu-cky.” Eddie whined. “I wish I could do that, I’d go to the movie theater at night when nobody’s around.” And Bill wanted to scream at him that it wasn’t lucky. It wasn’t fun. It was awful, it was awful and painful knowing that his own flesh and blood didn’t give a shit about him. But he didn’t. Eddie couldn’t understand, and he would never, ever, ever understand. He’d never understand how lucky he himself was. So Bill shrugged and nodded, then mounting his bike, and the two pedaled off to Costello street.

After that day, Bill developed almost an odd fascination with Sonia Kaspbrak. He wanted something from her, but he didn’t know how, or why. Richie was obsessed with talking about fucking her, but Bill definitely didn’t want that. He wanted something both more and less personal. He wanted her as his mother. Well, he didn’t, but he did.

It was a pipedream of his that he’d imagine in school. He’d come home, usually on a bright, summery day, and put his backpack down by his mother’s reclining chair. His mother, Sonia, Sonia Denbrough, would greet him with a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek. Though Mrs. Kaspbrak only ever seemed to watch TV, Bill hated the idea of his mom’s brain rotting through Derry Public Access, so he’d usually imagine her playing solitaire, or knitting, or drawing, or even just listening to music. She’d take him into her arms, maybe prop him up onto her lap and ask how school was that day, and he’d tell her about all the nonsense him and his friends got into. Then she’d cook dinner, which his real mother hadn’t done in months.

At his lowest points, in his home, Bill would imagine her, too. On those rainy days where he could almost see that paraffin-sealed paper boat rushing down the street, he’d crawl into his bed and pretend she was there.  _ It’s not your fault, Billy, _ she’d tell him,  _ I know you feel like it is, but it isn’t, I swear _ . When he’d come home after Henry Bowers slammed his face into a telephone pole, or Patrick Hockstetter threw him headfirst into a garbage can, he’d visualize her standing there with bandages and disinfectant, fussing over him.  _ My poor baby, _ she’d mumble,  _ my poor poor Billy _ . He wanted that kind of affection. He craved it, he was starving for it, he needed it so desperately that he was projecting that need onto his best friend’s fucking mom.

He felt empty.

* * *

Eddie thought it was a little weird that Bill kept coming to meet him at his house, and Bill could tell. But Eddie never said anything. That was enough consolation to keep doing it. He’d come and say hello, Sonia would barely acknowledge him and then he and Eddie would leave, usually to go to the barrens or the quarry or something. He’d become a lot more dependent on his fantasies. He had nothing else to lean on.

What he was doing was wrong. He knew it. He felt it. It was so, so wrong to be feeling like this, trying to cuckoo bird his way into someone else’s arms. But he was drowning. He was drowning out in the open sea and, like a piece of driftwood, he’d ride on Sonia Kasbrak’s shoulders all the way back to shore.

He must’ve known Eddie wasn’t home that day, when he came to visit with a brand-new floor puzzle of the solar system. He was alone. Thank God he was alone. If Richie or Stan had been there on that day, he didn’t know what he’d have done.

The door was unlocked. Eddie once told him that, if he wasn’t home, his mom would keep the door open and just tell visitors to come in so she wouldn’t have to get up. The lights were out, and the curtains were shut. The television fizzed and blared.

“Who is it?” She was filing her nails in her recliner, not even looking up to meet Bill’s eyes.

“Uh, Eddie’s f-f-friend.” He cleared his throat. “B-B-Bill.”

“Eddie’s not here.” She stated, even though it was very, very obvious. She was watching something that  _ looked _ like a children’s show. Weird call, but he couldn’t judge. He constantly kept the news on to see if they’d found Georgie.

“Alright, I’ll j-j-j-just sit d-d-down I guess.” Bill approached the couch, which was covered in a plastic film.

“The floor.”

“Huh?”

“Sit on the floor.” Sonia finally looked at him. Her eyes were tired, clouded by the fog of adulthood. “Don’t want Eddie sharing germs.”

“Oh. A-a-alright.” He sat down, placing the puzzle box next to him. “W-what’re you watching?”

“Dunno.” Bill nodded, silent. He was afraid to disappoint her, to make her angry, he hadn’t been scared to disappoint an adult in so long. He forgot how it felt. He nearly jolted into the air when Sonia addressed him again. “What’s with the way you talk?”

“Y-you mean my s-s-s-stutter?” She nodded. “I, uh, my m-m-m-mom thinks it’s beca-because I g-g-g-got hit by a c-c-car when I was little.”

“It ain’t contagious, is it?”

“N… no, of c-c-course not.”

“You better not be infecting him with anything.” Her eyes were glued back to the TV. The woman on the screen had the biggest front teeth Bill had ever seen, even bigger than Richie’s. Her hair was red like fire.

“ _ Life can be scary sometimes, _ ” she said, “ _ but you’ll always feel better if you cut out the rotten ones in your life and take your medicine. _ ” 

“Mm-hm.” Sonia wasn’t talking to anyone but the TV.

“ _ The rotten ones, like you, Billy. _ ”

Bill froze up. The TV continued. “ _ Look at him, he got his baby brother killed. You could have saved him, Billy. But it’s not too late. _ ” The woman grew deadly serious in expression. She was surrounded by children, who stared blankly as well. “ _ If you die, Eddie will be saved. _ ”

Silence clouded the room.

“D-d-d-did,” the words caught in Bill’s throat, “did you hear that?” It hurt for him to breathe, he felt sick. “I sh-should g-g-g-go.”

“No, pshh!” Sonia rose from her chair. It was the first time Bill had ever seen her do so, and she was massive and imposing. “Nonsense. You stay right there, Eddie won’t be long. Can I get you some tea?”

Bill felt cold all of a sudden. She was being nice to him.  _ This was what you wanted, but why does it feel so wrong?  _ He nodded, regardless. Maybe he was hallucinating. Sonia rose and disappeared into her kitchen, Bill stared at the TV, where the woman and the children were all singing some kind of song. He couldn’t really understand what they were saying, though. He quietly examined the picture on the puzzle box. It was so tranquil and calm, for once Bill was comfortable with the way things were. Obviously this wasn’t as involved as his little make-believe sessions, but it was alright.

The whistle of the teapot drew him from his thoughts, as he was tracing the pictures of galaxies and planets on the cardboard with his finger. Sonia had been whistling to herself. It felt like old times, when his mother would cook for him and Georgie, and she’d always sing old Ella Fitzgerald tunes. He remembered them, too. “Anything Goes” was his favorite. Georgie didn’t have a favorite, he loved all of them.

Sonia returned holding a single mug in a grip that was just a bit too tight, her knuckles pale and bloodless. Bill reached for the steaming cup. There was a moment between when he held his hand out and when the hot water hit his face where he was so comfortable with Sonia Kaspbrak that he forgot what town he was living in. Then suddenly it landed, on his forehead and his neck, into his eyes, up his nose and in his mouth. Everywhere it could reach, right to his hairline and below his shirt. The flesh beneath burned bright red and he cried out, blood collecting just under his skin. Almost in a trance, Sonia dropped the mug to the ground, allowing it to shatter on the hardwood floor.

“Think I’m gonna let  _ my _ baby get killed,” she muttered to herself, “negligent, rotten little brat. Not in a million years.”

Bill attempted to crawl away, but with almost inhuman strength, Sonia grabbed him by the back of his hair and  _ slammed _ his face into the coffee table. Blood burst forth from his nose and the whole world went blurry, like his eyes were a camera lens covered in vaseline. He rolled onto his back, covering his nose with his hands, and Sonia sat over his stomach. She weighed a ton. Bill felt like he might have been shattering below her. Two thick, meaty hands wrapped around his throat.

“Muh-Mrs. Ka--” His throat closed, and his sentence ended with a crude wheeze. Her expression was beyond words, a face he’d never once seen on a human being. Her eyes burned bright, her teeth gritted together.

It had gotten her. She probably already wanted to do this, wanted Bill out of her son’s life forever, but It had made those feelings real. It gave her the power, and the idea, to kill him. Not that Bill really knew of It, at least not yet, but sooner or later he’d realize. Maybe when Bowers would eventually lose his mind. Maybe years and years later when he’d grown old.

Black spots collected at the edges of his vision. Wasn’t this a funny way for him to die, snuffed out by a woman he’d blindly trusted due to his own parental drama. Killed by someone he’d pictured as kind, and caring, and gentle. She only felt that way about Eddie. Why would she care about anyone else, any other brat or ruffian who entered her home? Bill felt dumber than he ever had before.

His trembling hands grabbed her wrists and he tried to shift them, to no avail.

“Stop.” She was blunt, and harsh. “Stop making this difficult for me and Eddie-bear. Stop being difficult. Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” She puffed air through her nose, thumbs pressed into his trachea. “Should’ve beaten you harder.”

Bill knew he was going to die here. Not at the hands of the freak that killed his brother, but on the floor of his best friend’s house, covered in boiling water, nose bleeding and hands shaking. Eddie would come home to a clean floor, a spotless coffee table, and his mother watching TV like always. He’d be buried somewhere, or thrown into the sewers, or tossed off the cliff of the quarry into water. He’d rot, maggots would crawl into his eyes, his end would be attributed to It. The monster that took his brother from him.

As he faded in and out of consciousness, Bill wondered about all the things he’d miss. He’d never be kissed. He’d never graduate from school. He’d never go to college, or live alone. He’d never see his pet hamster that evening. He wouldn’t come home for dinner. He wouldn’t sit between his mom and dad on the couch, feeling miles between the three of them when there were only inches. He wouldn’t smoke pot with Richie for the first time. He’d never get drunk. He wouldn’t compare Henry Bowers to Robert DeNiro’s character in  _ Taxi Driver _ and make Stan laugh so hard milk squirted from his nose. He wouldn’t get married. He’d never own a dog. He’d never write a novel, or see what it was like outside of Derry. He’d never buy another hat, or pair of shoes, or yo-yo. He wouldn’t go to Neibolt house again and again in hopes that he’d see his brother walk out. 

All the stories he’d never tell. All the songs he’d never hear. All the people he’d never talk to. All the movies he’d miss. The  _ Re-Animator _ sequel he’d promised to see with Richie as soon as he heard it was coming. His first sexual experience. The cake Eddie would make on his 14th birthday, which would taste like shit, because Richie would accidentally put in salt instead of sugar. He’d never know Ben, or Bev, or Mike. He’d never read  _ Fight Club _ , or pile his belongings solemnly into a moving van out of Derry. Ironically, he’d never see  _ Kill Bill _ . There would be no awards for his novels, no more good grades, no tiny drawings in the corners of his notebook. No more thoughts about Georgie, at least not from him. The only thing he’d ever be, or ever have been, was the ever-blurring image of Sonia Kaspbrak’s austere face above him, looking weary. In a moment, he saw his own body. He was an adult, but Bill knew it was him. He dangled heavily from a noose. The ceiling above him shifted and contorted, moving outwards like it’d been slathered in quadraturin. 

And in his half-conscious, half-dead state, he only barely heard Eddie’s voice, but loud and clear, the voice of Eddie’s mother.

“Eddie-bear,” she said, “don’t be mad. You don’t need friends, not one like him.”

It was smudged, but he could see Eddie’s weeping face behind that of his mother, tugging desperately on her arm, and the TV singing. It wouldn’t stop singing. Singing songs of the end, about poor dead Georgie. All his brother’s fault that he died. All his brother’s fault, don’t be tricked by his kind eyes. Bill’s tongue felt cold, and his whole face was numb. And then, suddenly it stopped.

Eddie had pulled out the wall plug.

There was no sound. Silence reigned, and the grip around Bill’s neck slowly but surely dissipated, and Sonia looked like a deer in the headlights. (Or a moose, really.) “What’s going on here?” She looked to Eddie, and then to Bill.

“Let me out,” Bill wheezed, “p-p-please.”

Hastily, the woman stood, like she’d sat on something dirty or wet. The air returned to Bill’s body so forcefully that it hurt. He coughed and hacked, rising onto his hands and knees and spewing a glob of phlegm so hard that it’d make Richie proud. 

“You’re not mad, are you?” Bill looked up, but realized Sonia was addressing Eddie. “I mean, he didn’t knock. You can’t  _ really _ blame me… I only want what’s best for you.” Her desperate justifications seemed to fall on deaf ears. Eddie approached him silently, not even answering his mother, who made a sound of confusion. His small hand held out in front of Bill’s face.

“I’ll walk you home.”

Bill felt small. This was rare, because aside from Stan, he was the tallest of their friend group. But on his knees, he felt small. He pressed his hand into Eddie’s, and was pulled not into a stand, but a hug. If he just rose up onto his knees, he was as tall as Eddie. His cheek pressed into Eddie’s shoulder, and he suddenly realized how long he’d been crying. Sonia was absolutely howling, (“Eddie! He’s bleeding! You might get AIDs! Eddiiieeee!”) but Bill felt just as deaf as he needed to be, right there in that moment. His eyes fell shut, and for the first time since Georgie disappeared, he felt content. He felt something equivalent to love.

While kneeling there, in Eddie’s arms, Bill realized that adults were selfish. Adults were cruel and didn’t care for anyone but themselves. It didn’t matter whether their last name was Denbrough or Kaspbrak. It didn’t matter if they pretended to give a shit or not. Bill couldn’t rely on a parent, a mother or father or pseudo-mother. An adult would rather squeeze his neck than embrace him. Adults. The shameful fucking things.

The only people he could trust were people like himself. The young ones. The ones who still had yet to have their hearts and souls beaten out of them by the boot of society. They weren’t afraid to comprehend his pain, to listen, to actually give half a damn. They wouldn’t do this, not even if some magic TV told them to. (Well, except maybe Bowers, but he was the exception.) They knew better. They hadn’t learned to hate baselessly. 

Slowly he stood, towering over Eddie, but feeling microscopic. The blood from his nose had gathered on Eddie’s sleeve. (Oddly enough, he did see Eddie wear that shirt again, though it was as clean as when it was first bought.) Hand in hand, they began to walk towards the front door.

“Eddie!” Sonia shouted from the other side of the room. “Where on earth are you going now?”

“I’m takin’ Bill home.”

“Come on, I’m sure he can find his way--”

“I’m takin’ him home.” Eddie opened the door, and the two boys stepped outside into what was now a pale orange almost-sunset. Bill had been there for awhile. “Why’d you come over?” Eddie asked.

“I g-g-got a n-new p-p-p-puzzle.”

Eddie looked at him, disbelieving. Bill’s face tinged a bit red. He couldn’t keep lying like this. “...I w-w-wanted to see your, uh, muh… mom.”

“Why the hell would you wanna do that?”

“M-my parents,” Bill tried to speak without crying again, “they’re nuh-nothing like yours. N-n-n-nobody c-cares about me.”

“That’s bullshit, me and Richie and Stan do.”

“I k-k-kept pretending, pretending y-your mom was m-m-my mom.” Shame overwhelmed Bill like a tidal wave. “B-because wh-wh-when I saw her fuh-fuh-hussing over you I g-g-guess, uh… I w-w-wished my p-parents would d-d-do that for me.”

“Well, turn towards me.” Eddie said. Bill quirked a brow, but faced him. Eddie looked him up and down, quickly adjusting his shirt. “You look a goddamn mess.” He quickly licked his thumb, wiping the blood from Bill’s face with it, as well as the tear tracks. “Your neck is bruised as shit, hold on.” Eddie ran back into his house, so fast his mother had no chance of catching him, and came out with a bright red scarf. “Here, they’ll never notice.”

“Th-thanks--”

“Lemme do it.” Eddie quickly unravelled the scarf, delicately wrapping it around Bill’s neck, tight, but not too tight. “You have shorts on, so it looks completely fucking stupid, but whatever.” Bill laughed, a wet, weepy laugh. It’d been such a long time since he smiled. He wiped his own face with the lower part of his palm. “Here. I’m your dad now, or something like that.” Bill hiccuped. Eddie gave him a hug, though this time it only reached his waist. 

“Aren’t you af-afraid of g-g-getting a disease f-from t-t-touching me?”

“Yeah,” Eddie started, “but at least you’re not Richie.”

The two of them had a laugh, and finally, Bill felt whole, even for just that moment.


End file.
